


Here, in the dark

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-23
Updated: 2004-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 15:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12797601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: There aren't too many places to hide in OZ





	Here, in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Spoilers: Up to season four

Archive: Okay to Fullhouse Slash and C5, anyone else just ask first.

 

 

To be enclosed in glass felt like being under a terrarium. You 

were scrutinized, studied, watched. You were naked and defenseless

behind that glass, unable to hide except when you pulled the thin

blanket and worn sheets (laundered until holes appeared), over your

head.

 

The glass pod held you suspended in a cage from which you couldn't

escape until morning. It held all your dreams and nightmares; sounds

of crying, whispers, moans; racing and desperate thoughts. Like a 

snow globe, it just needed one shake to rattle you.

 

The essence used to make perfumes used to be squeezed out from panes

of glass-flowers trapped and crushed, squeezed under glass, until

they surrendered that elusive scent.

 

Only these men weren't delicate petals.

 

The pods stank of sweat, masculine musk, skin. Hurt, fear and

anger had strong odors of their own.

 

"Chris," Toby whispered in the dark.

 

They were in their own bunks, only a thin mattress and a few feet

of space between them.

 

"Yeah," came the whispered reply.

 

"Is it safe to come down there?"

 

Chris sat up slowly and looked out to see if any hacks were in

sight. Being in prison was bad enough but lockdown was brutal,

nearly as bad as solitary.

 

Most of the hacks didn't give a shit if they were fucking. It was

a whole hell of a lot better than breaking up fights. Although

it was against the rules, a lot of them turned a blind eye.

 

"Come on."

 

He heard Toby drop down and the mattress springs pop back up. He

made room for his lover. That brought a smile to his face. In here

Toby was his lover, not his prag, bitch, fuck toy or whatever other

crude name people came up with. Toby, sweet, funny, smart, 

golden-haired, smart-mouth, crazy Toby was his lover.

 

He crawled between the thin fabric and cuddled close to Chris's

warmth. He wasn't merely warm. His skin was hot, radiating

a fever of need and want. Chris held him close, keeping him

in the dark with him, hiding him from prying, reproachful eyes.

 

They cuddled close, close enough to feel warmth and sweat from it,

close enough to smell mint toothpaste and antiseptic soap, skin and

musk. Hell there was barely enough room for one person, two was

a hell of a tight squeeze.

 

Chris pulled the sheets over them and held Toby close. They were

safe in the dark, at least for the time being.


End file.
